


mr . andrews ' vision

by IntelligentDreams



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Flashbacks, Historical References, I Made Myself Cry, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, RMS Titanic, References to Depression, Religious Guilt, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26252440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntelligentDreams/pseuds/IntelligentDreams
Summary: ...  the last thoughts of naval architect thomas andrews jr . , as the pride and joy of his career meets a tragic fate in the atlantic .
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	mr . andrews ' vision

**Author's Note:**

> the oneshot that you are about to read was originally written for a creative writing course i took my senior year of high school . it features several subjects that some might consider “triggering” or “upsetting” , such as heavy angst , guilt , and a slight existential crisis regarding the subject of personal religion . you will also notice several characters within this oneshot that were not featured in the iconic james cameron film but are part of titanic’s tragic history , such as …
> 
> william pirrie , the uncle of thomas andrews ; chairman of harland and wolff ... and alexander carlisle , thomas andrews’ mentor and predecessor as harland and wolff’s role of master shipbuilder .
> 
> don’t forget to leave a comment if you enjoyed it , and let me know what you think !

  
  
  
  
  


_⠀_ **_MR . ANDREWS ' VISION : A TITANIC ONESHOT_ **

_inspired by the eponymous song from the 1997 broadway musical production_

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


⠀ The water tickled his feet as distant strains of music permeated his conscience — a familiar song, yet at the same time one he did not quite recognize. Its name seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, so near yet so far, and yet, Thomas Andrews could not recall it for the life of him.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ At this point, though, he was too exhausted to care.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ There, in the First Class Smoking Room, Thomas could hear the clock ticking, and knew his time was running out. With each passing second, his beloved ship was sinking deeper and deeper into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean — and it was all his fault.

⠀

⠀⠀ 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕, who the hell was he to think that the gates of Heaven would ever open for him?

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ Because of his actions, hundreds of innocent souls were living their last moments, and would soon be welcomed into the kingdoms of whatever god they worshipped. Thomas knew full well he would be denied this same welcome.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ By not doing what he could to prevent this tragedy from unfolding before his very eyes, by standing idle while Ismay reduced the number of lifeboats on board in favor of an aesthetically pleasing appearance, Thomas had committed what he considered the gravest sin of them all: 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓. 

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ Unbidden, a memory crept into his mind, shaking him from his present catatonic state and dragging him back into the past. When he made a decision that sealed his fate, as well as that of the 1,500 souls who would perish that fateful night.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝘚𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘸, 𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘬, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘉𝘦𝘭𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘵, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝘐𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘈𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 -- 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ "𝘔𝘳. 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵, 32 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦." 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘭 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘭.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝘈𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘧𝘧'𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴, 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳, 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮 -- 𝘣𝘶𝘵, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘢𝘨𝘰, 𝘉𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘦 𝘐𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘺 -- 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘯𝘦 -- 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴’ 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘶𝘹𝘶𝘳𝘺. 

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝖳𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖼 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝗰𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗷𝗲𝘄𝗲𝗹 𝘰𝘧 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 "𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦" 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘈𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝗲𝘅𝗮𝗰𝘁 -- 𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴, 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ "𝘚𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺, 𝘦𝘩 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴?

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘉𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘦 𝘐𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴' 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘺, 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘯𝘦'𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘭 -- 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝘠𝘦𝘴, 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘈𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘴' 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘸'𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘭.

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⠀⠀ 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘓𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘮 𝘗𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘧𝘧, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘐𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘺, 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴' 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 -- 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘑𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘶𝘴 𝘊𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘢𝘳 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘎𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘉𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘵 𝘈𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘜𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘮'𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘭, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘀𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘀, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭!

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⠀⠀ "𝘘𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵." 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘗𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱, 𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘭 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦. "𝘛𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘦..."

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⠀⠀ 𝘗𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧, 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘹𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘐𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘺, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘨 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦.

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⠀⠀ 𝗚𝗼 𝗮𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱, 𝘐𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝗜 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗮𝘆, 𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗺𝗮𝗻 -- 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗳𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗱.

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⠀⠀ “𝘛𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘦, 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘧𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤." 𝘗𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘐𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘺'𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵. "𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘭𝘺𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘤 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘮 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦."

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ "𝘐 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘴, 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘮. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵."

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⠀⠀ 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴' 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘭. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘈𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘦, 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴' 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘧𝘧. 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘷𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘺 -- 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

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⠀⠀ 𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘐𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥.

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⠀⠀ "𝘈𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳," 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵. "𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝗰𝗼𝘀𝘁. 𝘞𝘦'𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘳-𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦...𝘩𝘮𝘮...."

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⠀⠀ 𝘐𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝖳𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖼'𝗌 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱, 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘵 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴.

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⠀⠀ "𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘸!" 𝘏𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥, 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦. "𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯."

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭....𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘵.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝖳𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖼 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ "𝘗-𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦-𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘴 --"

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ "𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗸𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲, 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴." 𝘗𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘸. "𝗦𝗶𝘅𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲𝗯𝗼𝗮𝘁𝘀 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦. 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝘂𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿."

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ Oh, how that conversation haunted him now, how he recalled it clear as day! 𝑾𝒉𝒚 had he given up during that debate, and let his voice be silenced by an uncle under the thumb of quite possibly the most arrogant man alive? Good god, he had doomed them all!

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ Thomas Andrews had blood on his hands that night. Of every single soul who would perish because he hadn’t fought Ismay for more lifeboats, hadn’t advocated for those unable to raise their own voices.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ ”Oh Lord, forgive me....” Thomas murmured, his hazel eyes flickering anxiously up at the clock sitting on the mantelpiece of the fireplace. If his calculations were correct, he only had another ten minutes left to live — another ten minutes before his judgement day would arrive.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀Thomas’ thoughts turned to his family and friends back in Belfast. Nellie. Little Elizabeth. His Uncle William. He could picture the looks on their faces when they read the headlines that would surely be made the next day, could feel their pain within the very marrow of his bones. 

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ He could imagine little Elizabeth growing up with only vague recollections of her father, forced to rely on her mother’s stories and photo albums in order to paint a clear picture of the man she had once called “papa”. Nellie would try her best to keep his memory alive, he knew, but it wouldn’t be the same.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ Thanks to his own stubbornness and pride, Elizabeth Law Barbour Andrews would grow up without a father.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ A small sob left his lips at the thought of his beloved daughter suffering from such a thing, and he squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to contain the tears within. The thought of Elizabeth was enough to make him wish he had sought a place on one of those godforsaken lifeboats — if only to seize the chance to see her again. 

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝑯𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒚𝒆. Not to her, not to his dear Helen. 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒, 𝑒𝑥𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ Still keeping his eyes screwed shut, Thomas reached into the pocket of his jacket, hands trembling violently as he pulled out a golden pocketwatch. With shaking fingers, he opened it, and forced his eyes open with a gasp, breath hitching at the sight of the photos contained within.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ The first photo was perhaps his favorite — namely, one of him and his beloved Nellie on their wedding day. His wife still looked as radiant in that dress as she had on the day the photo was taken, and as his thumb grazed over it lightly, he decided to indulge in a little fantasy.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ Closing his eyes, Thomas let out a despondent sigh, a sad smile creeping across his face as he envisioned his dear wife wrapping her arms around his waist. He could feel her blonde curls tickling his skin, her head resting on his shoulder as she assured him everything would be okay.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 was what he would think of in his last moments.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ Not the hundreds of souls who were meeting the same watery fate as him, not his fear of what was to come after he closed his eyes for the last time — but Nellie.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ His sweet, darling, wonderful Nellie.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ "𝑇𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑖𝑒, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟...𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑢𝑙𝑡." He could hear her whispering in his ear, could feel her caressing his shoulders with the gentle touch of her thumb. "𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒."

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ ”But Nellie....you don’t 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅.” He frowned, shaking his head in disagreement with his wife’s words. “This whole tragedy was my fault....I was the one who 𝒃𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒕 this damn ship; therefore, I am the one to blame for her fate. Its simple logic.“

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ ”𝑁𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒." 𝑁𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑑, 𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑢𝑠𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑'𝑠 𝑔𝑎𝑧𝑒. "𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑇𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑖𝑒 -- 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑑, 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔, '𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑."

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ It was then Thomas realized what song Mr. Hartley and the other orchestra members had been playing: 𝑵𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒓, 𝒎𝒚 𝒈𝒐𝒅, 𝒕𝒐 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒆 — and, with a chilling certainty, he knew full well what it meant.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ The end was coming.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ Soon, he would be closer to his god than ever before, and farther away from home than he could have ever imagined.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ Death was terrifying, perhaps the greatest fear he had ever faced, but he was ready.

  
  


⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝑯𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒈𝒐.


End file.
